


not made for any man

by subwayfares



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Getting Together, LGBTQ Female Character, Silly, Women Being Awesome, lesbian milestones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subwayfares/pseuds/subwayfares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But what exactly does it mean," Sharon Carter said, "to be a lesbian?"</p><p>Every woman in the Avengers movies is into other women. They figure things out together. (A series of short-shorts.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	not made for any man

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lesbianniversary present for a tumblrbud. HOPE YOU LIKE IT. 
> 
> There shouldn't be any major triggers. The characters deal with casual and societal homophobia, canon-typical violence (although none of it shows up in this fic), and there are mentions of canon alcohol abuse. 
> 
> Literally everyone who is named in this story is at least bi; I treated some of the canon heterosexual relationships with more ambiguity than others, but I tried to prioritize the characters' gay identity and relationships with other women. 
> 
> The title quote is from Edna St. Vincent Millay's "Witch-wife."

Florence thought, as she followed Ruth through the streets of Small Town, Oklahoma, that their friendship was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She had known - she wasn't _that_ naive - that there were other girls like her, but it had never occurred to her that they might be hiding among the Star-Spangled Singers, a group of girls who had devoted their lives to their love for their country and Captain America.  
  
Catching Ruth with another girl had been - okay, at first it had involved a lot of being threatened, slowly and creatively, in increasingly terrifying tones, by a panicked Ruth. But it had also been a revelation. Once she'd gotten over the shock and managed to assure Ruth that no, she wouldn't tell, they'd immediately bonded. They were, after all, the only two Star-Spangled girls who understood what it was like.  
  
Ruth was more experienced than Flo: she had actually been with a woman before, and Florence had only ever almost-kissed one. But she was also the better dancer, and the prettier one, so Florence was used to looking up to her. Ruth was happy to give advice and, sometimes, when they were both feeling bold, field questions about What It Was Like.  
  
That afternoon, she'd taken Florence aside and said mysteriously, "I heard of a place we can go." Florence had known exactly what she meant, and she hadn't been able to concentrate on their performance that night at all.  
  
When they got in (and she hadn't expected they'd be able to get in that easily - she'd spent nearly twenty minutes selecting a nice-but-not-too-churchy dress and then worrying what people would think of her in it) there were women everywhere, or at least that was how it felt. Women in dresses, like hers, and women who were definitely not like her, dressed like men. "Ruth!" she said, tugging at her friend's arm.  
  
"Shh!" Ruth said, glaring at her. She looked totally cool, like she did this sort of thing everyday, even though Florence was pretty sure she had never been to a place like this either.  
  
As Captain America's girls, they were pretty closely watched most of the time. No one wanted them to bring disgrace on the whole operation, after all. But a number of the girls managed to get in trouble anyway, drink and carouse and spend time with boys. Florence had never been one of them. She liked to follow rules, mostly, and she'd never seen a point. But now, being in a room full of other women like her, she was starting to change her mind.  
  
  
  
***

  
  
"I'm still not sure about Jane," Darcy said, and took a sip of her coffee.  
  
"Hmm?" Bruce said. He was distracted, in the middle of what Darcy was sure was some Very Important Science, but he was still trying to listen to her. It was one of the things she liked about him.  
  
"She does her whole straight girl routine-"  
  
"Oh, that's what this is about." He smiled. "Does it really matter?"  
  
"Community," she said, pointing a finger - she often got very enthusiastic at this part of the lecture - "is very important. And she's literally dating the god of thunder, which might throw you off. But then it gets cold and she wears flannel practically every day."  
  
"Which is a lesbian beacon," Bruce agreed.  
  
"Exactly! I'm just not sure if I'm seeing it because I want to, or if she's sending out the gay bat-signal and I'm missing it."  
  
He hummed contemplatively. "The question," he said, "is whether she's wearing 'boyfriend' flannel, or just boy flannel."  
  
"That's genius," Darcy said. She had long ago classified Bruce as a combination of science-gay and hippie-gay; birkenstocks, books, and lots of yoga. She didn't expect him to bust out the fashion. "It's sort of combination, you know? There's no lace, but kind of a girly cut."  
  
Bruce shrugged. "You could just ask her."  
  
"And she owns a pair of Doc Martens," she said, shaking her head in despair, "with flowers on them."  
  
  
  
***

  
  
"Okay," Tony said, "but really: scissoring."  
  
"Tony," she said, taking a deep breath.  
  
"Pepper," he whined back. "I've been thinking about the mechanics-" She raised an eyebrow, but of course he was undeterred. "-and I can't see any way that it could work."  
  
"That must be difficult."  
  
"I've done a lot of research. Maybe if you're really enthusiastic you can-"  
  
Pepper couldn't help it; she laughed. "First, it's none of your business. Second, I've got a date to go on."  
  
"Okay," he conceded, "but maybe later?"  
  
  
*** 

  
The first time Natasha showed up at her house, Betty closed the front door on her. The second time, she realized what a kindness it had been that Natasha let her.  
  
Betty was used to being a china tea set in a bull pen. Even before Bruce, she'd grown up around military men. That was why she'd closed the door in the first place - she'd recognized, instantly, the way Natasha stood, the weapons she was pretending not to carry. But Natasha was a spy more than a soldier, and maybe that was why Betty, even tired as she was of fighting, let her in. She invited her to a local coffee shop, and then a diner, though at first she couldn't see why Natasha kept coming back.  
  
"Don't you people keep files on me? Can't you read them?" Betty asked, and then, "You've fought together, don't tell me that's not a bond. Why don't you just ask him?"  
  
Natasha shrugged. Betty knew she was a spy, and she suspected that Bruce had no idea they knew each other, but somehow she didn't feel manipulated. Natasha said, "Haven't you ever wanted to know more about a friend?"  
  
And Betty invited her into her house. "I'll make you dinner," she said. So she stood in her kitchen, kneading bread, humming tunelessly to the radio stations Natasha picked.  
  
"How long have you baked?" Natasha asked.  
  
She could hardly remember. "Since I was a child, I guess. But I didn't get really into it until I was older. And bread - it gives your hands something to do when your head's busy."  
  
"That must have been useful when-"  
  
Betty squeezed the dough, letting all of her frustration into it. "I really don't want to talk about him," she said. "There's nothing to say, he's been out of my life for years now."  
  
Natasha nodded. "But when you saw me, you thought of him first."  
  
She grimaced. "He has a way of coming back," she admitted. "But that's not what I think of when I think of you, not anymore."  
  
Natasha didn't say anything.  
  
Betty gathered her courage. The whole room smelled warm and yeasty, a good place to be brave. "I got my sourdough starter from my ex-girlfriend about a year ago, but I'm single now."  
  
"Betty." Natasha sounded - and looked - uncomfortable. She hadn't even thought that possible. "I don't think we're looking for the same thing in a girlfriend."  
  
She gaped. "I'm asking for a date, how compatible do we have to be?"  
  
"I don't believe in love." At Betty's disbelieving look, Natasha elaborated, "It's not a very useful emotion. You've got a lot going for you, you're talented and you have a sourdough starter, and I'm not even home eight months out of the year."  
  
Betty had a vague, painful recollection of her parents before her mother's death. Her mom had made dinner, kept house, tried to talk to her dad, but sometimes there had been a disconnect, something even Betty had been aware of. ("It's just hard," her mom had said once, smiling. "When your men are all serving their country. But you're proud, too.") She wasn't sure how to say that she got it, really, that she'd been the home front brave men had been coming back to for her entire life, and - she didn't know. She didn't want to be her mother, she was sick of having her normal held hostage by another person's catastrophe, but also she knew very well what she was getting into when she said she wanted to kiss Natasha Romanov.  
  
She eased her fingers out of the dough, floured them and dusted them off. She took Natasha's wrists in her hands and pulled her close, put Natasha's arms around her waist. And Natasha let her, just as she'd let her slam a door in her face.  
  
"It's okay," Betty said. Maybe it wouldn't be okay later, maybe she would get her heart broken, maybe she was destined to fall in love with people who couldn't give her what she needed. But right now, it was okay. "It doesn't have to be forever. It's just, you're fascinating, and badass, and very sexy. And I'd like to cook you dinner."  
  
Natasha grinned, and Betty felt warm, safe, flattered. "I'd like that, too," Natasha said, and then - slowly, like she wanted to be absolutely certain she wasn't misjudging - she leaned in and kissed her.  
  
  
  
***

  
  
Christine Everhart looked at Pepper, and the heaping bowls of popcorn she carried, dubiously. Their relationship was still a tentative one, but they were both brilliant and the sex was good, so little details like 'Pepper still kind of thought it was a bad idea to sleep with a journalist' were easy to ignore. "This must be something incredible, Pep," she said, "if it's your favorite movie."  
  
Pepper hesitated. "I mean, I have to warn you, it doesn't have much to recommend it."  
  
She considered that. "I've watched my share of bad horror movies."  
  
"Okay, good, because..." She took a deep breath. "The plot is completely implausible. Your sense of disbelief is knocking at the door for every agonizing minute of it."  
  
"I can do that."  
  
"The dialogue is leaden, and none of the actors seem like they've ever been in anything beyond a middle school play."  
  
Christine frowned. "Great."  
  
"And the production value - the less said, the better."  
  
"Why is this your favorite movie, again?"  
  
Pepper put the bowls of popcorn down on the coffee table in front of the couch and covered her face. "Because the main character's best friend is a lesbian," she said.  
  
Christine laughed. "Look, we've all been there," she said, "but is it _really_ worth it?"  
  
"And she gets laid."  
  
Christine sat there, completely impassive.  
  
"By another woman," Pepper clarified.  
  
Her resolve weakened. "Is it hot?" she asked softly.  
  
"It's only about a twenty-second montage," Pepper said. "But yes, incredibly."  
  
Christine whimpered and sank back into the couch.  
  
  
  
***

  
  
Peggy wasn't sure why she kept coming to these things. Every time someone asked her to give a great, inspiring speech about Women's Achievements or Peace or Diversity in the Military, she felt more like a fraud. She was one of the greatest women of her age, or so they said, she had singlehandedly (although it had rarely felt that way to her) engineered the relative peace that she was told they lived in now. She was a leader, an icon.  
  
It was the end of the millennium, she'd had a lifetime of accomplishments, women were supposed to have achieved equality, and every time she gave a talk, all that people wanted to know was what Steve had _really_ been like, what she'd first seen in him, what's something about him that none of the autobiographies and documentaries ever mentioned?  
  
And - she loved Steve, really. He had been a good man, and a good friend, and part of her heart had gone down into the ocean with him. But she was almost eighty, she was still talking about a man she'd almost dated in her youth, and no one outside her family knew she'd been with Gail for more than a decade.  
  
(And the worst part was that Gail wasn't mad, completely understood why the children had requested it, was frankly a better stepmother to them than they deserved.)  
  
"Excuse me?" The voice was hesitant enough to shake Peggy out of her thoughts.  
  
She looked up to see a girl, couldn't be older than sixteen, with a square jaw and hair tied back in a plait. She was dressed nicely, in a light blue button-down blouse and slacks, but they didn't fit her quite right. They were a boy's style, not a girl's, and she clearly hadn't got the hang of it yet.  
  
Peggy wasn't usually very expressive - Gail still teased her about that stiff upper lip - but she managed a smile, and the girl relaxed. "Yes, love?"  
  
"I know there was time for questions after the talk, but I had to see you," she said. "This is my only chance, I - I saved up all my money for months to get the ticket, and I took a train from Chicago to get here. You're my hero, I've always wanted to be just like you. I've read all the books about you, even that really sensationalist chapter in _Helpmeet: The Wives and Lovers of Superheroes_."  
  
Peggy had heard this all before. Not often enough that she'd stopped appreciating it, but often enough that she was weary of the whole process. But she tried to be patient with teenage girls who had big dreams. Certainly she would have appreciated that when she was one. "What do you need to know?" she said.  
  
The girl - Peggy didn't get the impression that she was shy, or easily scared off, but she visibly had to steel herself. "I need to know," she said slowly, not making eye contact but coming very close, "how you managed it all, as a woman. Because I want to be part of SHIELD, like you."  
  
"Usually it's best," she said - she was good at this speech, too - "if you start with some other agency. It gives you a broader experience base, and SHIELD doesn't have much time for naiveté. I'm not saying it's easy, but it's not like what it was in my day. There are plenty of women at SHIELD now, and wherever else you might go. They'll be able to guide you along."  
  
"I'm a lesbian," the girl said, voice even despite her obvious terror. "And yes, I'm sure."  
  
And - of course. The boys' clothes, her inability to ask in public. "That does complicate things," she said, very quiet. "If anyone finds out, you won't be able to serve."  
  
"I know. Is that SHIELD policy, too? I can't find it anywhere, and I can't ask."  
  
"It's complicated," Peggy said. She had done her best, but it wasn't much. There were gay people in SHIELD, and out, even, but it wasn't because it was okay to be gay in SHIELD. It was just because a powerful and well-liked person could get away with practically anything. "What's your name?"  
  
"Hill, ma'am." She stood straight-backed, and part of Peggy wanted to tell her to stop, that she was a lovely young woman and some day she would be perfectly happy and in love, and the lifestyle she wanted to get into, all the sneaking and spying and fighting, would eat a nice girl like her right up. But she didn't say anything, because if SHIELD was going to do any good in the world it needed more nice girls running it. "Maria Hill."  
  
"Peggy," she said, and extended her hand. Maria looked both ways before she shook it. "Let's find somewhere to sit down and talk, maybe get some food in you-"  
  
"I don't have the money," Maria said.  
  
Peggy smiled and patted her arm. "That's fine, it's my treat. There are things I need to tell you... and someone I want you to meet."  
  
  
  
***

  
  
"What made you think of me?" Natasha said once she'd found Darcy a seat in her apartment.  
  
"Clint mentioned," Darcy said. "I was telling him how I wanted to cut my hair, and he said you've done a lot of that. For missions, right?" She was getting a little bit better at dealing with the way that the extraordinary had dug into her life, but she still thought it was super sweet that she got to hang out with actual super spy assassins. "Like, you're being one person, but then, _bam_ , you can't be that person anymore, so you cut your hair and make a _disguise_ -"  
  
"Not just like that," Natasha said. Her voice was cool, but she was smiling. "But, yes, that's more or less right. I'm used to doing it for myself, but I've helped out friends before, too."  
  
"So you'll do it?" she said, hopeful.  
  
Natasha nodded. "You're sure you don't want to just go get it done professionally?"  
  
"Definitely not." She grimaced. "When I tried to cut my hair in college, I swear to God, the lady asked me twenty times if I was sure, and what my Daddy was going to think about all of his little girl's hair getting cut off, and I was just getting a _bob_."  
  
Natasha looked excited, anticipatory. "You want to go a little more extreme this time?"  
  
Darcy sighed. "There's this girl-"  
  
"Isn't there always?"  
  
"And I'm scared she thinks I'm straight. So I need all this-" she waved at her hair "-to go."  
  
"Okay." Natasha put her hands in Darcy's hair, feeling the weight of it. "Let's chop it off."  
  
  
  
***

  
  
"Thor," Jane said, her hands shaking. "I have to tell you something."  
  
He immediately looked up from _Property Brothers_ and, seeing the look on her face, turned off the TV. He was a good boyfriend, an attentive boyfriend - easily the best boyfriend she'd ever had, even counting that two year gap where he'd just disappeared. He'd spent all of dinner telling their friends what a wonderful catch she was, how faithful she'd been to him, and she just felt so sick. "My beloved Jane," he said, "what could possibly worry you so?"  
  
She took his hands in hers and closed her eyes, like she was about to jump into a pool of freezing cold water. She wasn't very good at coming out. She hadn't had to do it often. She'd dated more men than women, and while she knew her family suspected, she'd made a point of not actually telling them. "I'm bi," she said. "I like girls."  
  
He looked at her contemplatively, and she tried not to panic. But he didn't seem angry, or even surprised. "I would never-" he started to say.  
  
"No," she interrupted. "You don't understand. While you were gone, I thought you'd never come back, and there was this woman-"  
  
"Ah," he said. "The lady Darcy."  
  
Jane was flabbergasted. "No," she said. "I mean, she's nice, but she had a girlfriend. It was no one you know. But it wasn't just a fling."  
  
He put an arm around her. "You thought that I would be angry with you," he said. "But you have nothing to be ashamed of. Why, even my esteemed mother Frigga-"  
  
" _What_?"  
  
"-has been known to seek comfort in the arms of another woman-"  
  
"Thor, you-"  
  
"-when the Allfather enters his Odinsleep."  
  
  
  
***

  
  
"Why'd you stop?"  
  
From between Natasha's legs, Maria Hill grumbled. The Black Widow was famous for being demanding, but it wasn't her best attribute when they were in bed. "Because," Maria said, adjusting the dental dam she held with both hands, "it keeps _slipping_."  
  
"You can't be serious-"  
  
"You're too damn wet, woman."  
  
Natasha made an exasperated noise. "That's supposed to happen," she said.  
  
"Well, it's-"  
  
"Okay," Natasha said, in exactly the tone she might use when someone else screwed up on a mission. "I'll hold it, you just get on with your part."  
  
  
  
***

  
  
They'd just gotten off the highway and were walking into a diner in Small Town, Canada when it happened. Sif bumped up against Darcy once, then twice, then took her hand.  
  
"Sif," Darcy hissed. They had been dating for three months, a little longer if you counted the week when Darcy hadn't realized she was being courted, and they hadn't actually done this before. The PDA thing. Darcy was brave, and had a taser, and didn't let other people's opinions of her change her behavior, but also she had been hassled outside of gay bars plenty of times and she liked to be careful.  
  
And everyone was staring at them. Everyone always stared at them, and there were perfectly rational explanations for it - Sif was like twenty feet tall, and Darcy was 80% boob, so together they were a sight - but she could never believe that was all there was to it.  
  
Sif looked down at her and, seeming to read her discomfort, frowned. "You're perfectly safe," she said, quietly enough that Darcy was the only one who could hear. "I would never let anyone hurt you."  
  
"It's not that," Darcy said, and yanked her hand away. She very pointedly didn't look at Sif (she knew she would have that hurt confused Asgardian look on her face, and Darcy didn't want to deal with it) and they slid into a booth together, each on opposite sides of the table.  
  
They didn't speak except to the waitress until the food came, and then Sif was the one to clear her throat. "Lady Darcy," she said. These days she only spoke so formally when she felt that they needed to Talk, or when she was feeling especially romantic. Darcy doubted that she was feeling romantic. "I apologize. I never want you to be uncomfortable."  
  
Mostly she was uncomfortable with the way that _literally everyone in the diner could hear her talking_. But that was one of the quirks of dating a being from another dimension, and there were a great many high points, too. Darcy shook off her nerves and smiled, kicked at Sif's feet. "It's okay," she said, "I'm just jittery." She extended her hand across the table, and when Sif reached out and laced their fingers together, she grinned down at her food. "How about you gimme some of that poutine, and we'll call it even?"  
  
  
  
***

  
  
"Straight girls," Hill said, "are like catnip to me."  
  
Natasha laughed. They were gossiping over some take-out sushi and, as usual, Natasha's love life was going much better than Maria's. "It's your best-kept secret. Anything you can _shoot_ , you're fine, but put a girl in front of you and you're a mess."  
  
"You don't understand," she said. "I'm so screwed up over this chick right now, I haven't been this bad since I was fifteen."  
  
"Mmhmm." Natasha chewed and swallowed. "Who is it?"  
  
"The lovely, brilliant, talented Pepper Potts," Maria said, and covered her face. "I know, she's so-"  
  
"Completely out of your league," Natasha agreed wickedly. "But-"  
  
"But?"  
  
Natasha leaned in and whispered. "Not as straight as she looks, trust me."  
  
  
  
*** 

  
"Why?" Maria said. "Why do I have to entertain your guest? And how long will he even be here?"  
  
Howard made a face, and Maria sighed. She knew she sounded whiny, bitter, nothing at all like the woman he had married and loved. People had liked her because she was charming, because she had a beautiful smile - because she was, Howard had confessed once, such a distraction from an awful world. Now coming into middle age, she was no longer any of that. Like the dregs of a pot of coffee, she didn't have much good left in her, and she imagined Howard kept drinking because he'd forgotten any alternatives.  
  
"She's a woman," he said, "or might as well be. It was my team that found her, so I'm responsible for her, and you're the only woman I trust to keep an eye on her."  
  
She was, Maria mused, probably the only woman he knew. There were a lot of warnings in what he said - and she would realize that, later - but at first, she just marveled that it was a woman. Howard had brought a lot of guests into their home, for days or months or once almost two years, and expected Maria to make nice with them, but they were all men. Young men, handsome men, charming men, brilliant men. Men with bright eyes and sharp tongues who made Howard smile. She couldn't imagine what use he would have for a woman. "What is she?" she asked. "Some sort of ambassador?"  
  
"We don't know," he said, and she wasn't sure if it was her bitterness, but she was certain that he wasn't telling the truth. Or, maybe, that he wasn't sure, but he had an idea. "Just do what feels right, show her a good time."  
  
The woman's name was Frigga, and she was nothing like Maria had imagined. Oh, she was beautiful, that was for sure. But she was a woman grown, and though she looked only a decade or so older than Maria, there was something about her that gave Maria the sense that she was old indeed. When Maria found Howard and confessed that there was something strange about this woman - that she didn't think Frigga was like anyone she'd ever met before - he didn't look surprised. He didn't tell her anything, either.  
  
"I'm sorry," Maria said, frazzled, after Frigga had been staying with them almost a week. It was Tony's bedtime, and he, at two years old, usually kicked off their nighttime routine with two to three hours of hysterical screaming. "I usually have a nanny for him, but the last one left a few weeks ago and I haven't had time to find another."  
  
All the usual doubts were streaming through her head. She wasn't meant to be a mother, and if she wasn't meant to be a mother, Howard certainly wasn't meant to be a father. She was too selfish, and too impatient, and too silly - everyone had always said that - and anyway she wasn't like other women, she didn't have a nurturing bone in her body. She and Howard had had a son not because they loved each other, but because they had both vaguely wanted a child, though they hadn't been sure what to do with one. Looking back, that had been a mistake.  
  
"I believe you are doing everything right," Frigga said. Her voice was always both soft and firm, unlike Maria's, which these days sounded like it might break at any moment. "A child belongs with his mother."  
  
"Maybe most do," she said. She adjusted Tony on her hip and kept walking, bouncing him just a little, in big circles around the living room. Her knees and ankles were too sore for this, and he was getting too big. And he was screeching. The headache it had given her made her whole upper body, from the top of her head to the middle of her back, throb. She looked over at Frigga and gave her best loving smile, the one she'd perfected for those times when Howard was acting like his science went completely over her head. "But I'm not much for mothering."  
  
Frigga nodded. "Anthony is your first?"  
  
"My only," she agreed. It had been such a surprise that she'd been able to get pregnant at all, and such a mistake, that she couldn't imagine she'd ever have another child.  
  
"Children are difficult. They are a joy, yes, but they can also be a great burden." She had a way of speaking like she was making a proclamation, like she knew exactly what she was talking about. It would have annoyed Maria in anyone else. It annoyed Maria when Howard talked like that. Frigga walked up to her and held out her arms. "May I?"  
  
Maria scoffed. "He can be a little bit... difficult about letting people who aren't me hold him." She had never been able to understand why - she certainly hadn't earned that kind of loyalty - but it gratified her, too.  
  
"I do well with children," Frigga said, undeterred. "I have a great many, though they are all grown."  
  
Which answered that question. Maria knew they both had husbands, though she imagined Frigga's marriage was altogether a better match than her own. Neither of them had really wanted to discuss it, so Maria hadn't gone looking for more. With something like relief, Maria handed the struggling Tony over.  
  
Frigga was stronger than she looked. She cradled Tony carefully in her arms, his head on her breast, and hummed softly to him. (The books Maria had read about childrearing said that babies loved to be sung to, but she had never seen herself as the sort of woman to sing.) And, to Maria's shock, he settled. Frigga sat on the couch, Tony in her lap, and Maria sat next to her.  
  
"How did you do that?" she asked.  
  
Frigga put her hand on Maria's knee and squeezed. Maria didn't think she meant anything by it; wherever she was from, they did things differently. Anyway, Maria had for years been completely proper with other women while her husband did whatever he wanted with men. "He's not a bad child," Frigga said.  
  
And Maria knew that. She loved him very much. But he was, perhaps, a difficult child.  
  
"He needs someone to be patient and firm with him," Frigga said.  
  
"That's my fault," Maria said, and she laughed. "I'm not very - I lose my patience, I lose my temper, sometimes I think I'm losing my mind. I know he's a good boy, but it's hard."  
  
"He is very smart."  
  
"That's my husband. Howard's a genius." She dug her fingers into hair and fluffed it up, irritated when it fell in her face and she could see how it was starting to gray.  
  
"I think," Frigga said, and there was something examining in her tone, "that you have your own talents."  
  
She blushed. "I was smart as a girl, but I'd always get into trouble. And Tony - he's going to be just like his Dad, but he doesn't listen, he starts screaming if I pay attention to anyone else, he's such a handful." She couldn't believe she was admitting this to anyone, but - "Sometimes I just want to shake him."  
  
"It's easy to see yourself in your children. I have often found that to be the case with my sons."  
  
"Do you worry about them?" Maria asked.  
  
"Every day." She paused, looked down at her own clasped hands. "And wonder if I made mistakes."  
  
Maria looked at Tony, perfectly comfortable in Frigga's arms. "I just want him to be happy. Howard and I, we've got a lot going for us, but we're not happy."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Maria smiled. Frigga had these strange blank spots, these times when she didn't quite seem human. "I'm bad at giving myself what I want," she said. "Little things - champagne, nice clothes, that's one thing. But my heart's desire, I'm not so good at that."  
  
"And what," Frigga said (and Maria swallowed), "is your heart's desire?"  
  
  
  
***

  
  
"But what exactly does it mean," Sharon Carter said, "to be a lesbian?"  
  
About half the room groaned, Darcy among them. Sharon was a recent addition to their gay-women-only party nights (Darcy had spent about a month trying to come up with a portmanteau that included either "dyke" or "lesbian" and "celebration", and probably would have kept going longer if Pepper hadn't suggested just "that thing we do Fridays") and she was, more to the point, something of a baby lesbian. She had come out to herself about four months back, and she was still struggling with important questions like "How do lesbians have sex?"  
  
"It's very-" Pepper was, of course, the first to try to come up with an answer. She was very patient about these things; she considered herself something of a lesbian role model. "Well, you have to-" She shook her head. They had all had a few drinks. "You'll figure it out for yourself," she concluded.  
  
"In Asgard-" Sif began. She was almost completely naked; they were playing Strip Trivial Pursuit, a game that Jane and her graduate school friends had invented. That Sif was so bad at it was not a surprise; what was astonishing was that she was willing to play anyway. It was, not that Darcy had a crush or anything, one of the best things about the game.  
  
"It doesn't really matter," Natasha said. "You're doing fine." Darcy had kind of assumed that Sharon was - well, too blonde, honestly - for Natasha to like her, but she seemed fond in a gruff, Russian way.  
  
"Maria, it's your turn," Jane said. She was the official card-reader, being the one who was best able to make sense of the words while having way too much of that Asgardian mead on board.  
  
Maria rolled the dice. "For a piece of the pie!" she announced.  
  
Jane laughed. "I'll give it to you if you tell poor Sharon the meaning of lesbianism."  
  
They all laughed, and Maria considered it. She was - they all were - deadly in a board game. "Fuck, I don't know," she said, considering Sharon with lazy eyes. "I kinda figured you just wanted to be like your aunt."  
  
There was a moment of silence while everyone did calculations. Then everyone but Sif and Natasha said, "Peggy Carter was a lesbian?" Sharon continued, her face delighted and horrified, "But she was married to my uncle!"  
  
"Well, shit." To her credit, Maria looked chagrined. "I figured everyone knew."


End file.
